


(that hopeful feeling) when eden was lost

by raedear



Series: nobody upstairs to receive us [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blasphemy, CGL used in a religious context, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Church Sex, Confessional Sex, Corruption, Demon Katsuki Yuuri, Explicit Consent, M/M, Priest Victor Nikiforov, Self-Lubrication, Temptation, do not copy to another site, i'm not even sorry, inappropriate use of christian terms of worship, not a/b/o though, so much blasphemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24843352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raedear/pseuds/raedear
Summary: Viktor saw his face at night in the dark, when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It haunted him; the glow of candlelight on his skin, the glimmer of his dark eyes. All the prayers in the world couldn’t seem to chase the curve of Katsuki Yuuri’s smile from his thoughts.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: nobody upstairs to receive us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797127
Comments: 36
Kudos: 141





	(that hopeful feeling) when eden was lost

**Author's Note:**

> I make no apologies, happy Sunday :D 
> 
> relevant CWs: Yuuri refers to Viktor as 'Father' throughout. This is because Viktor is a priest.

Viktor saw his face at night in the dark, when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. It haunted him; the glow of candlelight on his skin, the glimmer of his dark eyes. All the prayers in the world couldn’t seem to chase the curve of Katsuki Yuuri’s smile from his thoughts. Viktor knew it was wrong - he should have been stronger, should have long since left the desires of the flesh behind - but he was a man, plain and simple beneath the smothering wool of his cassock, and he wanted. 

He was there again, as he was at every service. He sat in the centre of the third pew from the front, on the left. He watched every sermon with bright focussed eyes, but never bowed his head in prayer unless receiving the Eucharist or giving confession. He grew bolder as the weeks went by. When Viktor had first taken over the congregation in Belmont, fresh off the triumphant revitalisation of three other stagnating parishes, he'd simply been another face in the crowd. 

He hadn't remained that way for long.

Viktor hadn’t particularly wanted to be a priest, but when it seemed his only choice other than joining the army, he’d thrown himself into it with all of his not-inconsiderable focus. The seminary had been as he’d expected. Dull, but simple in its tasks and duties, and his placements in active parishes had been much the same. He hadn’t really begun to enjoy himself until he’d been given a parish of his own, under-attended and stagnating. He had improved it, gradually but hopefully permanently, drawing new faces first in curiosity but then had kept them with his vibrant sermons and easy charm. By the time he’d been reassigned the church had been a thriving community centre, and the Bishop had sent him along to the next town with instructions to do the same. 

He had. 

For ten years he’d trained and worked and he’d thought at twenty-seven years old that he was settled in his life. Katsuki Yuuri’s eyes, and the sound of his voice as he said _please, call me Yuuri, Father_ were enough for him to realise that that wasn’t true. 

It wasn’t that there hadn’t been beautiful men in his previous parishes; there had been plenty, some of whom had even made significant advances towards him. He had never struggled in gently rebuffing them. Some of his brothers of the cloth may have been lax with their vow of chastity, but it wasn’t a particularly difficult vow for Viktor to observe. In truth he struggled more with the vow of poverty, having always loved the finer things even as a child. He missed the indulgences of his childhood more than any other freedom now denied to him. 

In the early days, Yuuri had been just another parishioner. A beautiful one yes, his features unusual in the primarily white eastern European community, his eyes bright and direct, but just that. Viktor always made an effort to get to know everyone in his parish as best he could, greeting them at the door and learning their names. Yuuri had been quiet, his handshake gentle and his voice low as he’d introduced himself. He had met his eyes only once, a sharp look from below his lashes as he’d first taken Viktor’s offered hand. His smile had been as small as it was devastating, and had Viktor been a weaker man he would have held on longer to see if he could make that smile grow. 

Viktor was not a weak man.

Yuuri had been a growing challenge to his resolve ever since. The first time Yuuri had taken communion from him, knelt before him at the altar, mouth open to receive the sacramental bread, Viktor had felt a stirring in his blood unlike anything he’d felt in years. The perfect wet curve of his lower lip had haunted his dreams that night. 

Had Yuuri confined his visits to the Sunday services as so many others did he possibly could have ignored his feelings, but Yuuri was a penitent worshiper, and attended every service offered, morning or evening. The evening services in particular tried Viktor’s resolve. The shine of his eyes in the candlelight was stunning, even at a distance, and more than once Viktor found himself stumbling over his words, wondering at himself. 

Truly however, in his months of doubt and suffering, the worst of it all was confession. He usually held confession only on Sundays, but at the request of more than a few members of his congregation he had begun to hold an evening session once a month. Yuuri only ever attended the evening confessions. Always last. Always when the church was almost empty. 

His confessions were simple things, all venial sins - everyday commonplace mistakes and cruelties - much like any other confessions Viktor had ever heard. He confessed to moments of greed, or unkind thoughts. But the low murmur of his voice through the screen lit a fire in Viktor without fail. Once, early on, he whispered of lustful thoughts. The sound of his breath echoed in Viktor’s most secret dreams. In truth, since that first communion and the sight of his open mouth, Yuuri was never far from his dreams at all. Viktor laid out his penance as he would for any other - apologies to be made, prayers to be counted, and each time Yuuri would murmur a sweet _thank you, Father_ , before he left the confessional without another word. Month after month, sin after sin, he whispered and Viktor ached. 

Viktor had been in Belmont almost a year.

While normally his midweek sermons were relatively well-attended, the weather had kept most parishioners away that evening. The wind and rain beat at the windows, howling like wild things in the dark. The candles were hardly enough to keep the night at bay. Viktor led his sermon as always, although the pews were scarcely a third as full as he was used to seeing them. Yuuri was in his usual place, and it was harder than ever to keep his eyes off him. 

He spoke of self-discipline, of fealty to God and the importance of faith in the face of temptation. He spoke more to himself than his parishioners in truth, as he fought to keep his eyes on the middle-distance, and not on the way Katsuki Yuuri looked, dripping wet and focussed on his every word. 

On Sundays, Viktor had a volunteer help him with the large queue of parishioners seeking the Eucharist. He had no such help during the smaller evening services. He stood at the altar patiently as parishioners shuffled up the aisle, made the sign of the cross, and received communion as quickly as he could manage. Despite his seat so close to the front, Yuuri was last. He knelt penitently before him, and closed his eyes as he opened his mouth.

The candlelight burnished his wet mouth gold, and the soft pink swell of his tongue arrested Viktor’s breath. His hand shook as he laid the sacramental bread upon it, and as Yuuri closed his mouth his lip brushed against the pad of Viktor’s thumb. He stuttered around the traditional words, but Yuuri did not reply as he was supposed to, merely waited, face tipped forward as Viktor lifted the chalice of wine. 

Yuuri wrapped his hands around Viktor’s to steady the cup. His hands seemed to burn, and Viktor couldn’t drag his eyes from the wash of wine against his lips. When he pulled the cup back, Yuuri opened his eyes and looked at him. His eyes seemed almost red in the flickering light.

‘Thank you, Father Nikiforov.’

Viktor had to fight to contain a shudder. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Yuuri was supposed to say _amen_ , and go back to his seat. He wasn’t supposed to look at Viktor with those eyes, glancing from under his lashes as though sharing a secret. Viktor clenched his jaw and nodded, turning away to place the chalice back on the altar. When he turned back, Yuuri was gone, seated among the rest of the congregation as though nothing untoward had happened.

Had anything untoward happened? Nothing Viktor could pin down, but he felt out of sorts. The smell of incense and the burning candles seemed cloying around him. His collar felt restrictive in a way he had never noticed before. He led his congregation through the blessing in a daze, hardly aware of himself. His entire focus was reduced to the touch of Yuuri’s lips on his thumb; the movement of his throat as he swallowed the wine; the burn of his hands on Viktor’s own. 

If asked, later, he wouldn’t be able to recall exactly how he ended his sermon. He knew he followed every word of the liturgy, and his parishioners moved without question once he finished speaking, some back out into the howling night, others queuing quietly by the confessional. Fewer than usual, he noticed faintly, only the most devout amongst them staying any longer than they truly had to. 

He hadn’t seen Yuuri waiting before he took his own seat in that sacred space. He was grateful.

Belmont’s church was small and plain, all simple carved stone, but its confessional was beautiful. Its crowning feature was the detailed carvings of some of the earliest stories of the Bible which covered it completely. Almost a room in its own right, seemingly carved entirely of one great piece of cherrywood, ornate and warm and unusually spacious. Viktor could stretch his legs out almost completely in its dark recesses, when the confessions of people who had never truly sinned in their lives but felt the need to tell him about it every week dragged on for too long. Aside from whispers through the thin wall and wicker screen dividing him from the penitent, it was utterly silent; the wood too thick to allow much noise through its richly carved walls. He had to light two candles in each side, and even that wasn’t enough to push the darkness from its corners completely. 

The curious thing about the confessional was the way the intricate carvings were not constrained to the outside. Inside, lit by the flickering flames, they almost seemed to move along the walls. Directly in Viktor’s eyeline, the great serpent offered the forbidden apple to Eve. He wondered at it, every time his mind wandered from the secrets of his flock. Who would be so bold as to lay the first sin in the eyes of the one empowered to forgive it? 

His mind wandered far more than it should. 

He could hear his last penitent winding down her tale of woe through the screen. Could see her too, just about, if he turned his head. Really it gave only the barest illusion of anonymity. It would take someone half blind and deaf not to recognise who sat on the other side, even if he hadn’t made a note of who was waiting before he came in. He clicked his rosary distractedly through his fingers as he gave his standard penance for such commonplace sins; some measure of _Ave Marias_ , another of the _Pater Noster_. She left, secure in her redemption, and he rested his head against the confessional wall as he listened for the moment she and her companion’s voice would fade away. They were the last, and with their exit, he could blow out the candles and go to bed. She was the type who liked to feel important in small ways, and he could trust her to lock the door as she left. 

The door slammed behind them, the gale howling through the church for only a moment before it was cut off at the throat. Viktor sighed into the ensuing silence, and dragged his hand down his face. He had almost embarrassed himself, getting lost in Yuuri’s beautiful face. He was supposed to be stronger than this. 

The second door of the confessional opened with a sharp _snap_ , plunging the space into shadow briefly as someone slipped inside. They knelt, face towards the screen, and closed the door behind them in the same movement. Viktor’s eyes adjusted quickly, used to the gloom, but his heart raced in fright all the same. Who could it be? Who had lingered even after the doors were locked?

_Yuuri._

Head bowed demurely, hands clasped below his chin, everything Viktor had been trying to ignore. Viktor dragged his eyes away and stared at Eve’s outstretched hand, focusing hard on anything other than the obscured image of Yuuri at prayer. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He had left, hadn’t he? He hadn’t been in the queue for confession, nor in the pews when Viktor left the altar. He hadn’t been anywhere in sight. Where had he hidden? Why did he come now, when the church was empty and echoing with silence?

‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,’ his voice was soft, but every word was crystal clear and knife-sharp as the breath was stolen from Viktor’s lungs. ‘It has been... some time, since my last true confession.’ 

Viktor glanced at him from the corner of his eye. It had been less than a month since Yuuri last confessed to him thoughts of avarice, although he hadn’t detailed exactly what those thoughts entailed. Yuuri raised his eyes, and Viktor looked away quickly, strangely sure that Yuuri had caught him looking. 

‘I have had lustful thoughts, and committed lustful acts upon my body, as I thought of a man of the cloth.’

Viktor fisted his hand in his cassock, biting his lip hard so as not to make a noise in response to Yuuri’s confession. He stared desperately ahead, and hung on his every word. 

‘I imagine his hands upon me as I act upon myself. I think of his eyes watching me as I fill myself. I crave his lips upon me as I commit solitary sins against my own chastity.’ 

A fine tremor was running through Viktor’s body now as Yuuri confessed. He knew he should stop him; his words were a perversion of the script of confession, but he could no more bring himself to stop him speaking than he could implore the rain to cease its fall. He was held captive by the tone of his voice; by the words he whispered in the dark.

‘Last night,’ Yuuri said, his voice sweet as honey and thrice as tempting. ‘Last night I dreamt of… him. He touched me in such intimate ways, Father. His hands were upon my skin and mine upon his, and we found our pleasure together.’ Viktor could have sworn that Yuuri swallowed a moan as he spoke.

Viktor was growing aroused. He could feel it, and he ignored it as best he could. Never before had he been affected by another’s confession. 

‘I dreamt - oh, forgive me Father, - I dreamt that I took yo- _him_ , into my mouth, instead of the Eucharist.’

Viktor heard the hiccough in his voice, and the word he tried to hide. It sent fire through his blood. 

‘I dreamt he held me in place, and gave me himself. And I… I loved it.’

It was long since past the time Viktor should have stopped him. Should have scolded him for his words, and given him his penance. He could not. He felt himself straining against the front of his trousers, and held his breath as Yuuri continued to speak, trying his best to ignore his own arousal. 

‘His blue eyes upon my face as I took him deep in my throat; the shine of the candlelight on his pale skin, Father, I could not breathe for want of him.’

May the Lord forgive him but the picture was so vivid in his mind, Yuuri on his knees before the altar, before _Viktor_ , mouth open and ready for more than sacramental wine. He shuddered to imagine it. His legs were spread wide, his trousers and cassock tented obscenely; his hips moving unconsciously against the seat before he forced himself still. He glanced from the corner of his eye. Yuuri’s head was still bowed in prayer. 

‘But Father,’ he began again. His voice was rough, and lower than Viktor had ever heard from him. ‘Father, my true sin, is that when I woke I wished for more. I wished for y- _him_ to take me upon the altar, and fill my body with his. I imagined his fingers within me, as I moved my own inside.’

Viktor was painfully hard. He stared blindly ahead at the carvings on the wall, Eve’s lovely face lost to him completely - all he could see was Yuuri, spread upon the altar like a feast, open and ready for him. 

‘He would take me on my belly at first,’ Yuuri’s voice seemed to come from everywhere, whispering around him from all directions. ‘But would turn me over and fill me deeply, watching my face as he filled me. Those eyes upon my skin, upon my shame - I spent, Father, to think of you- _him,_ him watching me.’

It was too much. He _ached_. 

‘And even when I had spent, he kept me filled. Holding me atop his knees, filling me from below - Father, forgive me truly, but I begged.’

Viktor could hear the tone of it in his mind, Yuuri’s sweet voice broken and begging and whimpering. He wanted it. The longing overcame him, he had to do something, anything to ease the pressure of his want enough to focus on Yuuri’s confession once more as he should, and not as he wished to. 

Hands shaking, body trembling, he pressed the heel of his hand discreetly against the ache of his arousal. The relief was immense, just to be touched. 

Yuuri gasped. Viktor’s head snapped to face him, horrified that he might have witnessed his shameful behaviour, but Yuuri’s eyes were still closed. A smile seemed to play around the corners of his lips, but Viktor couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the shadows playing tricks on him.

‘I begged,’ continued Yuuri. His voice was still soft, but he spoke without pause. ‘And he gave. Father, I abused myself and I knew it was wrong, but I carried on. You- _His_ eyes followed me from the dream, I felt them upon my face as I called his name, as I found my pleasure at the thought of his touch, of his mouth on mine, of having him all over me. He watched me, and I burned for him.’ 

Viktor’s collar felt tight around his throat. His arousal tented his cassock in a truly shameful display. The pressure of his hand was barely enough to hold him together. He hardly felt himself breathe, so lost was he to lust. He could see every second of Yuuri’s fantasies before his eyes, every shadowed and half-forgotten dream of his flesh brought into vivid relief. He could imagine the very way Yuuri’s body would arch with pleasure, the way his eyes would crease around a moan; the curl of his fingers and his toes as Viktor filled him deep and held him down. 

‘Father Nikiforov,’ whispered Yuuri, and for a moment, breaking through the fog of Viktor’s arousal, his voice seemed to warp strangely, as though several voices whispered at once, from several different directions. In the space of a blink, as though he’d always been there, Yuuri was between Viktor’s spread legs, gazing up at him with endless wine-red eyes. Curiously, he felt no fear at his sudden appearance, nor at the inhuman shade of his eyes. He watched the light play on the curve of Yuuri’s lips once more as he spoke as though seeing it at a distance. ‘Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, and I sin still as I pray.’ 

Yuuri said nothing further, and made no move. No part of him touched Viktor. He merely waited, knelt between Viktor’s knees, hands folded demurely in his own lap, and looked at him with those burning eyes.

Once, as a boy, Viktor had stood at a crossroad just outside of his childhood village. One road led home, back to familiarity and comfort. The other, he had been sure, led to the entire world. He had felt as though he stood upon a great precipice, until his mother’s voice called him back. He felt that same sensation again, looking at Yuuri’s terribly lovely face.

There was no voice to call him back this time. 

His hand was steady as he reached out and touched Yuuri’s skin for the first time, cupping his cheek and pressing his thumb fully against the pout of his lips. The corners of Yuuri’s lips curled; something triumphant crossed his face. Any thought for his vows had long since left Viktor, and he gave in to temptation and pressed his thumb harder. Yuuri grinned, and opened his mouth, Viktor’s thumb slipping over his lips, past his teeth to the soft brush of his tongue. He couldn’t restrain a gasp — Yuuri’s mouth almost seemed to scorch him. The rest of his fingers slid down Yuuri’s cheek to cup his chin, lifting his head higher, his thumb sliding deeper as he did. His rosary clicked quietly where it was wrapped around his wrist, dangling just long enough to brush the hollow of Yuuri’s throat. 

Yuuri touched him at last in return, sliding his hands up Viktor’s legs from shin to thigh, pushing his long cassock open and aside, baring his legs. Viktor trembled, his breath coming in sharp quick pants, his fingers tightening on Yuuri’s face. When he reached Viktor’s underclothes, he paused, his fingers just above the slit. He looked at Viktor, temptation made flesh, his lips still wrapped around Viktor’s thumb, and he waited. 

Some awareness was dawning in the back of Viktor’s mind; some realisation was pushing its way forward. He ignored it, and with his eyes fixed on Yuuri’s, he nodded. Yuuri grinned again, sharp as a blade but didn’t move, and Viktor removed his hand from his face, reaching down to slide his hand into his underthings himself, freeing his aching erection to the air. He took himself in hand, and Yuuri leaned forward, never looking away from Viktor’s face. Something sparked again in the back of his mind, but he could feel Yuuri’s breath now on his skin, and that was all that mattered.

Viktor pressed the head of his cock to the pink pout of Yuuri’s perfect lips, and in the same instant as Yuuri opened his mouth to take him inside, the spark in his mind coalesced into perfect, divine knowledge. This was his true test. He could see, stretching ahead of him, years of piety and toil and fealty to God, and his reward: advancement within the church, a cardinalship, a sainthood, the promise of endless holy bliss in the kingdom of Heaven. 

Even as he felt the first touch of Yuuri’s tongue, he knew he could still achieve it. Should he choose to do so, he could cast Yuuri aside; banish him from the world and all God’s dominions; name him the Adversary and step back into his life stronger for having overcome him. 

He chose differently. 

He slid his cock deep, and groaned to feel the motion of Yuuri’s mouth around him. He slid his hands into Yuuri’s silk soft hair, and shuddered as Yuuri slid his hands up from his thighs, under his cassock, across the bare skin of his stomach, up and up until he scraped his nails across Viktor’s nipples, ripping a shiver through him. It was almost too much, the sight of his lips stretched around Viktor’s cock; the sweep of his eyelashes across his beautiful cheekbones. Every vision that marched through his mind of his blessed future within the church paled in comparison to the vision before him. 

‘Yuuri,’ he gasped, his hips bucking upwards helplessly. Yuuri didn’t even flinch, merely sucked harder. ‘ _Yuuri,_ ’ he gasped again, fingers twisting in his hair. Viktor was close to coming, he could feel it building in his fingertips, in the twitching muscles of his stomach under Yuuri’s clutching hands. He gave a hard shudder, his spine already beginning to curve, when Yuuri suddenly and mercilessly lifted his head and pulled his hand from under Viktor’s cassock to squeeze the base of Viktor’s cock hard. The noise he pulled from Viktor’s throat was more animal than human. 

‘Shh, Father,’ whispered Yuuri, licking his lips as he waited for Viktor to catch his breath. ‘I’m not nearly finished with you yet, I’ve waited far too long for this.’ He pushed himself up, climbing onto Viktor’s lap. As he moved, the candlelight flickered around him, and his form seemed to flicker with it. Between blinks he lost and gained heavy curling black horns, sweeping back from his brow; a tail curled and flexed behind his back, there and gone again; his eyes kept their red glow, but gained black where there should be white, only for his gaze to shift, and away it went. 

By the time Yuuri settled astride Viktor’s thighs, knees tucked tight against his hips, his clothes were gone. He sat bare as a babe, and the state suited him better than any clothes Viktor had ever seen him wear. Although, as he considered Yuuri’s form with no small amount of wonder, he couldn’t actually remember any clothes Yuuri had ever worn with any particular detail. He could only remember his skin, his lips, his eyes. 

Yuuri grinned at him, and rolled his hips hard into Viktor’s. His touch was the most delicious kind of agony. He slid his hands back under Viktor’s cassock, tucking them neatly under his undershirt, against the soft skin of his belly, before he dragged his hands up towards Viktor’s chest. His cassock and undershirt split as he moved, shredding as Yuuri slid his hands up and over Viktor’s skin. He felt no pain, but his vestments slipped from his body as though carved by a knife, leaving him almost completely bare, the fabric pooling around his wrists, his collar hanging limp around his throat. Yuuri’s burning eyes flitted over his revealed flesh, blatant and savage delight in the curve of his sharp smile. 

‘I’ve watched you, _Father_ ,’ said Yuuri, rolling his body just hard enough to catch Viktor’s arousal against his own, but not hard enough to give any satisfaction. Viktor couldn’t help it, he found himself gripping him tight, pulling him harder into the cradle of his hips. ‘I’ve waited for you - I could feel your eyes on me. Is it worth it?’ 

‘Worth what?’ asked Viktor, helpless, even though he already knew the answer. 

‘Worth the loss,’ Yuuri’s eyes were all Viktor could see. ‘Viktor Nikiforov, _servus dei,_ Viktor Nikiforov the venerable, Viktor Nikiforov the blessed, Saint Viktor Nikiforov, patron of champions — all that devotion, lost, leaving only my Vitya behind. Is it worth it?’ 

Once more he was graced with the knowledge that this was his first and greatest challenge, and still he could cast Yuuri aside and take his place in the annals of history. Holy choirs echoed in his chest, calling to him. Again, he chose differently, _my Vitya_ ringing in his ears and drowning them out. He brought one hand up to cup Yuuri’s cheek, the other held tight to his gently shifting hip. 

‘It is,’ whispered Viktor. ‘You are,’ he promised, before he drew Yuuri’s face towards his own and kissed him with all the passion that had been missing from his life. Yuuri shivered sweetly in his arms, his own hands coming up to frame Viktor’s face, his kiss equally as deep, equally as hungry. 

He was damned in that moment. He knew it in his bones in the same way he knew how to breathe. He didn’t care. Yuuri twisted his hands in his hair and rolled his body against Viktor’s. His form flickered again and again, horns and tail and scales spilling over his shoulders and around his hips appearing and vanishing by turns as though Yuuri was struggling to keep control. 

Knowing he was damned was something of a blessing for Viktor. Damnation, he understood, was something one did to oneself. Not something that could be forced upon you. He had chosen to touch Yuuri. He had chosen to slide his cock between his sweet lips. He had chosen to kiss him. His damnation was his choice, and now that it was total, there was little he could do to make it worse. 

There was a truly great freedom in that. Any remaining restraint was lost to him. He gave in entirely to his most secret desires. He redoubled the passion in his kiss, and brought his hand around to hold Yuuri’s cock tightly, stroking it and swallowing the moan it pulled from him. 

‘Tell me, Father Nikiforov,’ whispered Yuuri feverishly against Viktor’s lips. ‘As your last act as priest of this place — what should my penance be for my sins?’ 

‘Wha-’ Viktor broke off with a moan as Yuuri ground hard against him. ‘I don’t-’ 

‘I’ve sinned terribly, _Father_ ,’ Yuuri pressed the curve of his smirk against Viktor’s throat, sharper and sweeter than any blade. ‘You must help me repent.’ 

'Your penance?' How could he think of penance at a time like this? Where would he even begin to help a creature such as Yuuri find redemption — he didn’t even want to. ‘The- the _Pater Noster,_ twice over, and reflection upon your sins.’ A pittance. Yuuri laughed to hear it, and the sound warped and echoed around them. 

‘The _Pater Noster?_ ’ he asked, the echo of his laugh still calling in Viktor’s bones. ‘I don’t know it Father, will you teach me?’ He lifted Viktor’s hand from his cock as he spoke, guiding it around and under his hip, pressing Viktor’s fingers up and up until the tips of his first three fingers rested against his hole. He was wet, in a way Viktor had only ever understood women to be. It made sense, he supposed, in some mad and strange way, that he could be ready in an instant. 

Yuuri pressed harder on Viktor’s forefinger, encouraging him to press up and in, sliding inside Yuuri’s body, into the soft tight heat of him. His hole felt as close to scorching as his mouth had. The smell of honeysuckle filled the air as Viktor’s hand grew slicker.

‘Teach me, Father,’ said Yuuri again, grinding down against Viktor’s hand. His savage grin was a slash of white in the gloom.

‘ _Pa-pater noster, qui es in caelism_ , _’_ Viktor slipped a second finger inside Yuuri as he spoke, his face pressed against Yuuri’s collarbone. His cheeks burned. ‘ _Sanctificetur nomen tuum.’_

He spoke without thought, the words falling from his lips by rote. Now that he had started, he couldn’t stop. It was a monstrous blasphemy, an earnest prayer to God while he held a demon writhing in ecstasy in his lap, but he relished it. The clench of Yuuri around him, the sound of his moans, all of it thrilled his blood. He pushed a third finger inside of him, stretching his hole obscenely, and kissed his neck between phrases. 

‘ _Panem nostrum,'_ he scraped his teeth over the beautiful wing of Yuuri’s collarbone. _‘Quotidianum da nobis hodie,’_ He twisted his fingers and lifted his head only to sip the high whine of pleasure from his lips. _‘Et dimitte nobis debita nostra,’_ Viktor whispered against his mouth, closing his eyes, overcome by the burn of Yuuri’s gaze. 

Yuuri caught Viktor’s face in his hands, and held him until he looked at him again. With his eyes fixed on Viktor’s, he rose up higher on his knees. Viktor’s fingers slipped from his body, and he stuttered over his prayer, voice catching in his throat at the sight of two great horns curling back from Yuuri’s brow like the horns of a ram, black as pitch, sweeping up as though they’d always been there, and he’d just never noticed. Maybe they had. When he gripped Yuuri’s hips to ground himself, for a moment he felt scales beneath his fingertips.

‘Keep going, Father Nikiforov. You haven’t finished,’ murmured Yuuri, his breath hot and sweet where it brushed over Viktor’s lips. Viktor blinked, and nodded, helpless. Yuuri let go of his face with one hand, and reached down to grasp Viktor’s cock firmly. 

‘ _Et- et ne nos inducas in tentationem,'_ gasped Viktor, struggling to hold himself in place under Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri held him still, and shifted in his lap until he was poised directly above him, the head of Viktor’s cock pressing just against his hole. Viktor finally managed to tear his gaze away from Yuuri’s horns, looking down between them with wide eyes. ‘ _Sed libera…'_ Yuuri bore down, taking Viktor into himself slowly. The air was knocked from Viktor’s lungs at his tight, wet heat, and he struggled to speak. Yuuri watched his face all the while, hunger in his gaze. _‘Nos a malo.’_

With an expression of particularly savage pleasure, Yuuri rocked down hard, taking Viktor into himself completely as he moaned around his final _amen._

All sense fled his mind. All he had left was Yuuri, around him, above him, consuming him. He gripped him hard around the waist and pressed his forehead against his shoulder, struggling to catch his breath and adjust to the way Yuuri’s body gripped his cock. He couldn’t take his eyes off where they were joined. Below the generous curve of Yuuri’s, straining high and wet at the tip, he could see his own disappearing inside him. He noticed, distantly, the scales he had felt under his fingers flicker in and out of view as Yuuri shook in his arms, his own hands clutching at Viktor’s shoulder blades. 

Yuuri gave him only a moment to catch his breath. 

Viktor bit into his shoulder as he started to rock, taking Viktor deeper into him with every roll of his hips. 

‘Is this what you imagined, _Father?’_ he whispered, into the bare inches between their faces. ‘Is this what you dreamt of at night? Tell me.’ 

‘Yes,’ gasped Viktor, helpless, his own hips rising to meet the fall of Yuuri’s. He turned his face to press against Yuuri’s throat, and tried to breathe. ‘Yes, Yuuri- God-’

'Swear to _me_ , Vitya,' panted Yuuri as he writhed in Viktor's lap, wanton and adored. 'Give yourself to me completely, I'll take care of you.'

Viktor had given up his life for God. He would give up more than that for Yuuri. He set his teeth against his neck and relished the pound of his pulse beneath his lips.

'Anything Yuuri, I'll give you anything,' he could taste Yuuri's flesh against his tongue as he spoke; could feel the unnatural heat of him.

'Give me your soul, Vitya. I'll keep it with my own, if you'll only give it to me willingly.'

Again, visions of the life he could have led rushed through his mind. Visions of piety, of strife, of sainthood in the end. They almost seemed to mock him now. All of them pale and lifeless, compared to the body in his arms, wrapped around him, taking him deep.

'It's yours,' his teeth scraped against Yuuri's pulse with every word. 'I am yours, Yuuri. I swear it. My soul is yours. My body is yours. All that I am, I am for you.' 

Yuuri's fingers twined in his hair, holding his face hard against his neck as his back arched, forcing Viktor deeper inside him with an animalistic moan. Viktor bit down hard on his neck, and held on to his hips with white knuckled hands. Blood spilled over his lips where Yuuri's flesh split; ichor sweet and thick across his tongue. 

‘My Vitya, mine forever,’ crooned Yuuri, nuzzling his nose against Viktor’s hair. ‘Pretty bored Vitya, pious and false.’

He rocked down harder, and Viktor dragged him down harder still. The close dark heat of the confessional crowded around them, the smell of sex and honeysuckle mixing with the candlesmoke. 

‘ _Yuuri,_ ’ moaned Viktor, rutting harder and faster into the delicious grip of Yuuri’s body. ‘My Yuuri, _please,_ ’ he didn’t know what he was asking for, couldn’t think beyond the taste of Yuuri’s skin, his lips, the vice of him around his aching cock.

‘I’ll take care of you,’ said Yuuri again, and he caught Viktor by the hair, pulling tight until Viktor raised his head, moaning again at the sweet pain of it. 

His eyes were so red in the dark, like light shining through wine. He smiled, savage and delighted, and his teeth seemed sharper than they should have been. Viktor couldn’t resist licking into his mouth, dragging his tongue against the points of his teeth, feeding him the blood still rich in his mouth. 

Yuuri broke away to laugh, high and delighted as he tipped his head back and rolled his body down into the cradle of Viktor's lap. The candlelight lit the white curve of his neck like the finest of silks, marred only by the mark of Viktor’s teeth. His blood was black as the shadows around them, and seemed to pull all the light into itself. Viktor couldn’t look away from it, couldn’t resist licking across the wound and up his beautiful throat. 

‘I’m- I’m close,’ he whispered into the soft hollow at the corner of Yuuri’s jaw, below his ear. Yuuri’s hand’s flexed on his shoulders, his nails scraped deeper and harder than should have been possible for human hands, and the bright sting of pain dragged Viktor even closer to the edge. ‘Yuuri, Yuuri _please,'_

Yuuri gripped him by the hair and pulled until Viktor raised his head again. Yuuri stared at him, unblinking, grinning a terrible sharp grin. The shy smiles of all the weeks before wouldn’t fit the face that looked at Viktor now. He was beautiful, the way a storm is beautiful. He was destruction and terror, and Viktor ached with want of him, even as he was buried up to the hilt in his body. 

‘Come for me, my Vitya,’ crooned Yuuri, releasing his grip on Viktor’s hair and stroking it from his face. ‘Let me feel you.’ He dropped his hand to wrap around his own cock, pulling in time with the deep rocking of his hips. His hands, Viktor now noticed distantly, were tipped with claws, and black spilled from the points of them to his wrist. 

Viktor nodded, helpless, and pulled Yuuri closer against his body, kissing him desperately as he thrust up, and up, and came with a shout that seemed torn from his heart. 

Yuuri laughed again, the sweet sound so at odds with their debauchery. He tightened almost painfully around Viktor's cock and moved his hand faster on his own. It was only a moment before he came, his release spilling over Viktor's bare stomach in pulses that almost seemed to burn. 

They were quiet, after. The confessional was hot and damp with their sex, their breath, their sweat. Viktor panted and struggled to catch his breath, clutching Yuuri tightly still as he shuddered through the aftershocks of his orgasm. Yuuri stroked his hair gently, holding him close against his shoulder. 

'Sweet pretty Vitya,' he murmured, soft and close. 'My Vitya.'

Viktor raised his head and looked at him again. His horns were gone. His eyes were brown. He looked once more like sweet, shy, penitent Katsuki Yuuri. Viktor found he missed the sharp corners of his smile. 

Yuuri held Viktor's face carefully in cupped hands, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

'I'll see you again soon, Father Nikiforov.'

With that, he lifted his hips so Viktor's softening cock could slip from his body, and got to his feet. He kept his eyes locked on Viktor's as he took a step backwards. Viktor was already raising his hands to catch him, expecting him to meet the locked confessional door behind him, when he slipped through it as though passing through mist. 

Viktor found himself alone in the close dark heat of the confessional, Yuuri's release on his skin and the destruction of his cassock the only sign he'd been there at all. On the door, as yet unnoticed by him, Eve turned her face away, and took the apple in hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you had fun :D any and all kudos and comments are greatly appreciated in these trying times. 
> 
> There's a sequel planned, but I don't have a timescale for it. Probably not too far in the future, but my brain's about ready to melt out of my ears so who knows. Subscribe to the series, or to me though if you want to see more. This fic will have no further chapters. 
> 
> Catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/raedear_writes)


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